


Wouldn’t It Be Nice

by cherrywinecrowley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1967 Crowley, 1967 to 2019, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, I live for the YEARNING, Light Angst, Pining, Switches POVs, Which was one of his more angsty years anyway, also beach boys inspired because hell yeah, and this song is also about yearning so it fits, both Crowley and Aziraphale’s POV, mutual love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 17:27:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20393431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrywinecrowley/pseuds/cherrywinecrowley
Summary: “Wouldn't it be nice if we were olderThen we wouldn't have to wait so long?And wouldn't it be nice to live togetherIn the kind of world where we belong?”Aziraphale always pushed Crowley away because he had to. And a future together was something that only existed in his dreams.What happens now, when it could become real?





	Wouldn’t It Be Nice

1967 - Crowley’s flat 

“I go too fast for you.” Crowley says to an empty chair, although he doesn’t imagine it’s empty. He’s picturing a modest, white-haired angel, hands clasped in his lap, nestled on top of the overly plush velvet cushions. He’s pacing back and forth and the only sounds that break the stillness of the room are from the bottoms of his black snakeskin boots when they make contact with the concrete floor. He runs a finger through his shaggy copper hair and turns to start walking in a new direction, although his eyes are still trained on the chair.

“I go too FAST for you.” He says again with a bit more firmness to his voice. It’s ladened with anger and frustration and he picks up a wine glass from the end table, only to whip it across the room, the glass exploding into tiny shards the instant it meets the wall. With a snap of his fingers the wine glass is back in his hand, perfectly intact.

He throws it again. 

The wine glass is salvaged and smashed five more times. 

Aziraphale can’t see the bigger picture, and it doesn’t help that the bigger picture is often shrouded by some convoluted plan that hangs over everything in their lives like a fog. It’s a fallback, something to use against him whenever he tries and presses the angel for some hope of a future, something more than chance encounters and desperate yearning. If that didn’t work, Aziraphale had other ways of pushing him away. 

“We’re hereditary enemies.” Aziraphale would tell him. “We aren’t friends.” Aziraphale would tell someone else. “There’s no our side.” Aziraphale would tell himself.

Sometimes his words would hurt but it was a quick pain, like a dull sting that throbbed until it was no longer noticed. Other ones would dig their way deep inside Crowley and take hold like a parasite, attacking him again and again, sensing when he was weak. Like at night, or when he was alone.

The words “You go too fast for me” had caused the deepest wound so far. Mostly because they didn’t seem to make sense. Crowley has learned from his many mistakes over the years and has adapted because of them. He knows what gestures and affectionate terms work well with the angel, and what temptations and provoking behaviors agitate him. He knows when to ease up, and when to press forward. He liked to think he could read Aziraphale like a book; his face always gave away whatever he was feeling. The look he gave Crowley in the car was unrecognizable, but there was some sort of sadness that marred his soft face. More wrinkles than Crowley was used to. 

Going too fast? What the hell did that mean?

Crowley gives up for the night because no one ever wins in a one-sided argument. The mind is a theater in which heart-wrenching confessions and frantic, emotional conversations play out on a screen but for once Crowley is tired of watching. Instead he stalks over to his couch and collapses onto the dark leather. With a flick of his wrist, his record player begins to play. 

“Wouldn't it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn't have to wait so long? And wouldn't it be nice to live together, in the kind of world where we belong?”

Humans like to hurt. It’s a little known secret that everyone knows but few care to admit to knowing. They’re often the ones who pour salt into their own wounds. Ignoring someone who has neglected their calls because they want the other to know what it’s like to be lonely, even if it means prolonging desperately needed contact (Crowley is guilty of doing this from time to time). Wallowing in solitude, surrounding themselves with dangerous vices instead of calling their friend and saying “Do you have a minute to talk?” And laying down at night, drumming their fingers across their chest, listening to a song that will only bring them to tears.

Crowley doesn’t bother to brush his away.

“You know it's gonna make it that much better, when we can say goodnight and stay together...”

And the song plays on, but the rest of the words don’t reach Crowley’s ears as he melts further into the sofa, and his eyes are screwed shut as he very quietly begins to cry.

2019 - The Ritz

The night at the Ritz is everything Aziraphale had ever dreamed of. There’s lots of pleasant background noise, couples talking and laughing at their tables, champagne and wine glasses clinking together, and silver forks delicately clattering onto porcelain plates. The restaurant is cozy and inviting, candles lit and brightening the room as music begins to play. A woman’s tender voice floats through the air, and the unmistakable sound of birds can be heard in the park, although it takes a trained ear to really take notice. And there’s food that comes in course after course, savory and sweet, served alongside rich tea and sweet wine. And what makes it best is that this is something the angel has been wanting ever since the 60’s, possibly even before that. A relaxed dinner in the company of the love of his life.

And Crowley is happy too, although his smile isn’t reaching his eyes. He’s listened intently to everything Aziraphale has had to say, laughed through dinner, and he even stole some bites of the quiche and raspberry tarts. But he’s not in the moment, at least not completely. His mind is elsewhere. Aziraphale tries not to be bothered by it because they both had been through a lot in the past few days, with helping prevent Armageddon and defying Heaven and Hell and all the little stressful moments in between. It’s a miracle that they’re still alive. It’s understandable that Crowley is not fully at ease. When he stops and thinks about it, he isn’t either.

But he’s not worried about Heaven, they’re probably very happy to be rid of him. Gabriel and the others never seemed to care for him that much. He’d heard their whispers about him “going native” and found it rather offensive that they thought enjoying God’s creations was such a horrible thing to do. He’s not worried about Armageddon because it’s been averted, at least for now, and it’ll take years and years and years for another plan to take shape. He’s not worried about much these days, except for the future.

A future with Crowley.

A future that will no longer be held back by obligations and restrictions and work assignments and it’ll just be the two of them. They’d never had such freedom.

It was all very frightening to think about.

Aziraphale had spent years keeping his feelings for Crowley at bay, and resisting his temptations. But he’d also grown used to the many, many gestures and declarations of love without ever needing the word attached to them, the rescues and the comfort and the companionship throughout the years. He knew Crowley loved him. And he loved Crowley back. But now that the dust finally settled, would he still? Aziraphale wasn’t so sure that he would.

It’s been five minutes since they spoke and Crowley is staring at him. Aziraphale clears his throat apologetically and he pushes another raspberry tart towards Crowley, and smiles when the demon picks up his fork to eat.

The moment they step outside the restaurant, they are met with cold air and a biting wind. There’s not many people outside in the park and the sky is continuing to fade to a deep, dark blue. Crowley shoves his hands into his pocket and Aziraphale wraps himself up tighter in his cream coat. They don’t say much to each other and instead busy themselves with walking. When they reach a worn wooden bench, Aziraphale takes a seat, and Crowley joins him.

“Need a rest?” He asks the angel.

“Not really,” Aziraphale says, “Just wanted to stop and talk. I have something I wanted to ask you but not in the restaurant. Mainly because I’m not quite sure how to ask the question.” He chuckles nervously and avoids eye contact with Crowley, instead looking down at the white dashed seams in his leather gloves.

Crowley frowns a little and scoots closer. “Ask me what?”

“Well, I just, I guess I just wanted to know what you think our future will look like.” Aziraphale’s voice is barely above a whisper. This is it. This is what he wants, rather what he needs to know.

There’s a moment of silence before Crowley speaks. “Well I guess I just assumed it’d go on like normal. You run your bookshop, I meddle in things that don’t need to be meddled in, you bless people and I tempt the hell out of them. I don’t have my lot breathing down my back anymore and same goes for you, but we are creatures of habit. I just figured life would go on.”

Aziraphale feels a twinge in his stomach. It hurts. He forgets that words hurt sometimes. He really didn’t know what to expect, and honestly, what did he want Crowley to say? That they’d run off together? Like Crowley would ever ask again, after Aziraphale rejected him every time that he’d asked. There was no confession of love, but this wasn’t a movie. This was life, and Aziraphale would have to make peace with that.

He smiles politely and moves to stand again. “Yes of course. You’re right my dear. Let’s get going again.”

Something flickers in Crowley’s eyes and he tugs Aziraphale back down to the bench. “Why do you ask?”

“Just was curious is all my dear, nothing more than that. It’s getting late, we should keep on before it gets too dark.” Aziraphale still isn’t looking at him. Crowley slowly moves to grip his chin and turns his face ever so slightly until their eyes meet.

“What is it that you want?” He asks, searching the angel’s pale blue eyes for an answer, an answer he’s been waiting thousands of years for.

It’s vulnerable. It’s terrifying. Aziraphale lets go of a breath he doesn’t realize he’s holding and moves Crowley’s hand until it’s on the side of his face. He closes his eyes and takes a moment before looking at Crowley again.

“This.” He breathes.

Crowley uses his other hand and grabs a fistful Aziraphale’s coat, yanking on it and bringing him in for a bruising kiss. Their eyes close and their lips meet and Crowley doesn’t let go, he doesn’t ever want to let go of his angel ever again. Aziraphale’s hands move to grip Crowley’s hair and Crowley deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue in the angel’s mouth as they press closer, desperately trying to get more of each other. They stay like that for a long time, at least long enough for the dark blue sky to turn black.

When they do pull away, they each need a moment to catch their breath. Aziraphale reaches forward and takes Crowley’s sunglasses off, folding them neatly and putting them in his pocket. When he looks at Crowley again, he sees beautiful golden eyes and their beauty rivals the stars. He pauses for a moment to thank God for love, and allowing him to love and be loved by his soulmate. And then he kisses Crowley again before standing up and offering him a hand.

“Lift home?”

2019 - The Next Day, Crowley and Aziraphale’s flat

Aziraphale wakes up to the smell of bacon. And coffee. And some sort of citrus fruit, possibly oranges. He slips on clothes that aren’t his but fit none the less, and his feet dangle over the edge of the king sized bed. He hears whistling and the snap of the bacon sizzling on the stove and he can’t stop the the smile that washes over his face when he realizes this was all very much worth waiting for.

The angel pads across the concrete floor and quietly walks through the hallway. He leans against the doorway and watches as a a tall, lanky demon concentrates on buttering toast and setting up two plates for breakfast. Crowley hasn’t noticed his presence yet, instead focused on squeezing fresh oranges for orange juice and singing a very familiar tune.

“Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up, in the morning when the day is new? And after having spent the day together, hold each other close the whole night through?

Happy times together we've been spending, I wish that every kiss was never ending

Oh, wouldn't it be nice?”

Aziraphale can’t help it. He walks over to his beloved and kisses him on the cheek, and Crowley’s smile might be even bigger than his. He snags a piece of a bacon and presses a kiss to his nose before settling in at the table. 

“It would.” Aziraphale says.

“Come again?” Crowley calls to him, over the music and the sounds from the kitchen. Aziraphale smiles and reaches for the newspaper.

“I’m just agreeing with the song. It would be nice.” Crowley nods in agreement and goes back to finishing breakfast. Aziraphale takes it all in, the coffee, the food, the bright sunlight through the blinds, the lush green leaves of the houseplants, and the sound of music filling the air. And Crowley in the center of it all, where he should be.

“It is nice.” Aziraphale tells himself. “It’s very, very nice.”

**Author's Note:**

> Man do I love using song titles as fic titles. Also, so many songs apply to these lovebirds and I get inspired by all of them. 
> 
> A fluffy fic! They deserve happiness (and bacon)


End file.
